So much scarring from morning sun,
blistering cold from trains and cars passing me by.
So many cuts from blades of grass,
so much noise from storms,
but so much comfort from people I’ve known.
So much destruction from the outside world,
and yet so much peace from looking into your eyes.
Safety and quiet from being with you,
happiness and fulfillment from breathing the same air.
Outside is rough, it’s noisy and loud,
outside is grim, tired and soiled.
Inside is tranquil, with nothing in between.

I open my eyes, and here I am, embroiled.

Detach. Disconnect. Depress.
Dum-dum-dum.
Constant noise of fake and music,
Constant sounds of loud and shriek.
Depart. Discontinue. Deny.
Dum-dum-dum.
Obvious noise, obvious fake, obvious music.
Obvious sounds of the outside and panic.

This was the last train
For things to be said,
For things that have remained
To be left unentertained.
There’s no reason for me to speak my mind,
I missed it, the train and the terrain,
And now I’m taking a random bus.
Undeterred,
E tot ce mi-a rămas.
This was the last train,
And now I’m looking for different stations,
Motivations,
And temptations.
This is the first bus
To somewhere new,
And half in light, and half in dark,
Is where I start.

what’s left of lovers,
hugs in disguise,
thinking of monsters
but we’re none the wise
and while they keep struggling,
for better or worse,
like old tired deities
from cities of norse,
what’s left of friends,
shambles in truth,
wasted memories
of the dangerous youth
that we’ve both survived
and acknowledged and thrived.
what’s left of hearts,
imagination
and stare.

We lock eyes
in binary lies,
in nights and days,
and kings and queens,
indifferent to the noise,
we always choose
between black and white,
forgetting to grow
between spaces,
so focused on the aces,
and not remembering
how hard is to know
to fight the darkness,
but to resist the light,
to move between spaces
of easy harshness
and such heavy light.
We live between
heavens and hells.
But with all the bells,
i can promise you,
the inbetween is yours to take.

Scattered and disturbed,
Like feathers lost by birds
In empty suburbs,
The things I wanted are the things I am.
The mirror stares at me,
All buttons undone,
Misery welcome,
And all the things I wanted are the things I am.
Through all the pain, discarded and forgotten,
Between empty cups of coffee,
Half eaten sandwiches and lost words,
All of the things that I wanted are the things that I am.

But wait, says desperation,
You’re not made of things,
You’re made of this
Gorgeous spectacular feeling
Of being a being.
You’re made of star dust
And metal rust,
You’re made of hope and made of trust.
You’re made up empty and I must
Admit that filling the feeling
Was a bust.

i just keep thinking of those moments i missed with you
and you weren’t missing them with him,
and touching his lips,
kissing his hips,
and angering his joints in a way that was joyless.
i miss you the way you miss him.